


i'll be for you what i want;

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Siren!Jaskier, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt is paid to kill a siren who's been terrorizing the local towns. Things are never quite that easy, though.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 1183





	i'll be for you what i want;

**Author's Note:**

> this is inspired by all the cute mermaid/siren jaskier art ive been seeing <3  
> follow me on twitter @ queermight

Geralt had encountered many, probably thousands of monsters and mythical creatures and fuck, he’d even seen dragons–gold ones. But when he was staying in a port town, he was approached by a man–a sailor, he noticed idly, from the uniform–and asked him to slay a:

“A siren?” he repeated slowly.

The sailor–who’d introduced himself as Merek–nodded, sliding into the chair across from him. He placed a bag of coins on the table and nudged them toward Geralt, a tight-lipped smile on his face. “A siren has been terrorizing the town, killing locals.”

Geralt stared at the bag. There was probably enough in there to last him a few months, at least. “How do you know a siren is your problem?”

“Oh,” Merek sighed. “We–we had a survivor, the first of ‘em. He said he saw the thing with his own two eyes.”

Geralt reached out and hesitated for just a second, seeing if Merek would stop him. He didn’t, so he grabbed the bag and drew it closer. He slowly counted the coins, impressed with the amount.

“What exactly did your survivor say?” he grunted once he was finished.

Merek nodded. “The survivor–well, his name is Tybalt–said right before the boat crashed he–he heard singing. Said it was beautiful, captivating, even, and then the ship crashed but–but he said he saw no land or rocks, anything. He had just, um–noticed he was the only survivor when he saw it–said it looked like a man except for, uh, scales on his cheeks. He had tanned skin and dark hair and a smile like a shark.”

Geralt was barely listening by the end of it. “I think your survivor was imagining things, probably from the shock,” he stated blandly. He hated to not get the coins, but he didn’t scam folks–couldn’t risk losing business because of it.

“Please.” He looked up as Merek leaned forward, eyes pleading. “Take this job.”

Geralt frowned deeply. “And what if I find nothing?”

“Then–then you can still keep the coins,” Merek replied quickly. “As thanks.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes, waiting. Merek was unwavering. Sighing, he grabbed the bag of coins and shoved them in his bag. “I will do a thorough search,” he said, meaning it, “but I don’t think I’ll find anything.”

Merek sighed heavily, a relieved smile blooming across his face. “Thank you.”

&

Geralt stood at the docks, watching as a boat drifted closer and closer. The boat reached the docks and the sailors jumped down, one by one, tying the boat to one of the docks.

One of the sailors noticed him and nodded in greeting; Geralt nodded back.

That was the last of them–for the night, at least. He walked over and peered down into the murky waters. He had left most of stuff at the inn, only bringing his sword with him.

A dock town would be good hunting grounds for a siren, logically.

Geralt shook his head, clearing his mind, before diving into the water. His head resurfaced a few seconds later and he swam, far, far from the docks. He encountered a few different species of fish, but nothing worth noting.

Just like I expected, he thought almost bitterly. He still felt wrong taking the money, even if he did what had been asked of him.

Turning around, he swam back to the docks and climbed out, weighed down by the water. He went back to the inn and yanked off his clothes, slipping under the covers.

&

“Geralt!” Banging on the door followed by more yelling, “ _Geralt!_ ”

He sat up, already reaching for his sword. He recognized the voice a second later and his hand dropped. Shoving the covers off, he stood up and dressed in his clothes, still damp, before opening the door.

“Merek,” he greeted tersely.

He was breathing hard, eyes bloodshot. “Another boat was found destroyed this morning, not far from here,” he said in way of a greeting. “No survivors. I–I know you probably didn’t find anything last night but–”

“Show me,” he interrupted.

Merek blinked, once, before nodding. “Follow me.”

&

The remains of the boat–mostly just broken planks of wood–had been gathered, Merek explained, specifically for him. Geralt picked through them, looking for anything useful.

He found something and held it up, showing Merek. “What do these look like?”

Merek took the small, jagged piece of wood and studied the marks in it. “Claws,” he answered after a moment.

Geralt stood up. “I’ll be honest,” he said, “I didn’t believe you at first.” He nodded at the piece of wood. “But that’s damning evidence that there’s something in the water, siren or not.”

“Will you still help?” he asked, looking at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

Geralt remembered the coins weighing down his bag back at the inn. “Yeah,” he replied. “But I’m going to need help from you, too.”

Merek nodded without missing a beat. “Anything.”

&

“No one wants to be bait,” Merek said later that night at the tavern.

Geralt sighed, taking a sip of his beer. “Not surprising,” he said gruffly. “No one _likes_ being bait.”

Merek nodded, looking thoughtful. He cleared his throat after a moment, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll do it.”

“Merek,” he said.

“Look,” he replied, shrugging. “I’m a sailor–if you don’t get this thing, death will be looming over me constantly, anyway.” Geralt realized he had a point. “So, let me do this.”

Geralt nodded, taking another sip. “We’ll do it tomorrow,” he said. “Just as the sun is setting. This thing obviously prefers attacking at night.”

&

They traveled as a pair to the neighboring town, which didn’t even have docks–it was a much smaller town with very little money. Geralt walked to the edge of the ocean and sighed, staring at the waves overlapping each other.

Merek joined him a few seconds later. “You’ve fought a lot of monsters, right, Witcher?” he asked, quiet, almost drowned out by the sound of the ocean.

Geralt grunted in reply.

“Are all… hmm,” Merek stopped and started again. “Are all monsters bad?”

That wasn’t a question he heard a lot. Geralt glanced at him. “No,” he answered honestly. “A lot of folks call me a monster, too, you know,” he added, almost amused by the look on Merek’s face.

“Sorry,” he stammered.

Geralt shrugged. “I’m not bothered by it.” Anymore.

“Sometimes I wonder what makes a living thing a monster,” Merek said, crouching down and cupping some water in his hands. He let the water slowly drain out between his fingers. “How do we know humans aren’t monsters in their own right?”

Geralt hmmed. “I guess we don’t,” he replied.

&

Later, Merek borrowed a boat from the locals. Geralt had lived many years, but he realized then he didn’t have much experience on the water. Merek was a natural, like expected, and prepared everything before departing from the land, slowly moving across the waves.

Geralt crouched near the edge of the boat, eyeing the water.

Merek glanced back. “So,” he said. “See anything?”

“Yeah,” he replied dryly. “Lots of fucking fish.”

Merek laughed, a little forced. Geralt could practically feel the nerves pouring off him, weighing him down. He frowned and stood up, taking a step toward him. Merek looked at him and smiled tightly.

“You didn’t have to do this,” were the first words out of Geralt’s mouth.

Merek shrugged sharply. “I kind of did,” he said with a sniff. “Innocent folks were dying.”

Geralt hmmed, staring at him. Humans and their bravery, their compassion and empathy. Viewed as good things, he supposed, but flaws all the same. The boat rocked suddenly, and he stumbled back a few steps, quickly straightening up. He reached for his sword. There was noise, far off, and he realized with slow clarity that it was singing.

“What was that?” he asked, looking around.

Merek looked around, too, eyes wide. “Um, I–I don’t know. Could’ve just been–”

The boat lurched violently, nearly tipping, and Merek yelped, dropping down and curling into a protective ball. Geralt ran to the front of the boat and peered over; it was too dark for humans, but with his enhanced senses he could still see as clear as day.

He searched, eyes flickering from side to side.

Then he saw it. Something disappeared under the boat, bright emerald green. Geralt caught sight of what looked like–“a tail,” he breathed, rushing back over to Merek and crouching in front of him.

“Hey, hey, we need to turn the boat around. It’s here.”

Merek gulped audibly and slowly looked up. He was trembling like a leaf.

“Can you do that?” he asked gruffly, impatient.

Merek startled and nodded, and stood with Geralt’s help.

The boat lurched again and there was no stopping it–Geralt grabbed Merek’s arm, holding on, as the boat tipped over and they were dropped into the water. He went under, holding his breath, and resurfaced as quickly as he could.

His hand was still wrapped tightly around Merek’s arm. He pulled him up.

“Hey,” he said; Merek stared at him with wide eyes, hair slick against his forehead. “Are you okay?”

Merek just stared at him, and he cursed under his breath. “Fuck.”

Geralt searched for land; he hadn’t even realized they’d traveled so far–he could barely see the sand, just a line on the horizon. He took a deep breath.

“Okay, Merek, you need to swim, okay?” He spotted movement in the water a few feet away, and he frowned, roughly pushing the sailor in the direction of the land. “Go, goddammit!”

Merek started swimming, at least, fast. Satisfied, Geralt pulled his sword out of its sheath. He was silent, still, waiting for movement. He saw it again, just a splash, and then the thing was moving, insanely fast. Geralt took a sharp breath and readied his sword, but the thing–the siren–moved around him completely, headed for–

“Fuck!” he cursed loudly, turning around. He knew he couldn’t make it–“Merek!”

Geralt watched as Merek was pulled under water. He sheathed his sword again and swam as fast he could. Merek was still nowhere to be seen. Geralt dived under, but there was no sign of the man or the monster.

He resurfaced and looked around, taking gulps of air.

“Merek!” he shouted. Nothing. “ _Fuck!_ ”

Slowly, he spun, searching. He saw, in the distance, something pop out of the water. His heart lurched, much like the boat had, as he swam over and sure enough it was the sailor.

Geralt gathered him in his arms. There was blood staining the water.

He frowned and swam toward the surface, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. Because he knew, even before he had dragged Merek out of the water, that the sailor was dead.

&

Geralt was relieved to hear that Merek had no family, at least. Small comforts.

But he knew, after that, there was no writing this off or moving on. Geralt started visiting the ocean every night. A few of the local sailors offered to help, but each offer just made Geralt feel sick.

He was not getting anyone else involved; he’d decided that as soon as he pulled Merek’s body out of the water.

Eventually though he did accept one offer.

“It’s okay,” the sailor had said. “Don’t worry about bringing it back if, you know.”

Geralt grunted in reply. That night, he was back on the water. He crouched near the edge of the boat, just like before, and waited, searching with his eyes and listening with his ears.

Mostly he just saw fish, mostly he just heard the crashing of waves.

Mostly he just felt guilt, all-consuming. Witchers were painted as having no emotions but, as he sat there, nearly wanting to cry, he knew they were wrong–all of them. Geralt sniffed loudly and scrubbed a hand down his face.

That’s when he heard it: a gentle voice, singing sweet nothings.

Geralt stood up and looked around, the guilt replaced with anger. “Show yourself!” he barked, pulling his sword out. “Fucking coward.”

The boat was rammed and lurched, a repeat of the other night. Geralt scrambled to the center, steadying it.

“Too afraid of a fair fight?” he yelled into the night.

The boat was rammed again, even harder, and Geralt stumbled sideways. He gripped his sword, squared his shoulders, prepared himself for–“Come on,” he called, “do it.”

The boat lurched violently, tipping over, and he went under, sinking a few feet before he caught himself and swam back, resurfacing. He saw them–her, he realized–in the distance, a head of red curls, scales on her face.

He frowned. “Come and get me, you fucking–”

She opened her mouth and yelled, high-pitched, unnaturally so. Geralt gasped in pain, covering his ears, his sword sinking to the bottom of the ocean. She kept yelling, unwavering, and he felt a splitting pain at the back of his head. He groaned.

“Fuck, fuck–” he repeated, pressing the palm of his hands, hard, against his ears.

He looked up, searching frantically for the siren. He could still hear her, but he couldn’t see her, which was–fucking unhelpful.

Taking a shaky breath, he weighed his options. He needed to get out of the water, obviously, but that meant facing the siren’s shrieking head-on. Not to mention, his sword was missing and he knew if he left now he might never find it.

Making a decision, he turned and rapidly began swimming.

The shrieking was so loud he could barely hear his own thoughts. Geralt swam and swam, but he knew he might not make it–his vision was darkening around the edges.

“Fuck,” he breathed right before he fell victim to the darkness.

&

Geralt felt–weightless, like he was being carried. He tried opening his eyes, but his eyelids felt like bricks, too heavy.

“Shh,” a soft voice whispered in his ear, nothing like the shrieking from earlier.

Geralt’s lips parted. “Wh–who–” he tried. He could hear the splashing of water on rocks all around him, so he was still in the ocean. “Fuck,” he groaned, the splitting pain back. There was no way he was opening his eyes now.

“Just relax,” the voice said, soft and sweet and comforting. “You’ll be okay.”

Somehow, he didn’t think that was right. He was far from okay–but for some reason he believed the voice and nodded, barely, before quickly dozing off again.

&

Geralt blinked, once, staring up at the sky. It was still dark, but the sun was rising on the horizon, casting the water in a soft yellow glow. He moved and his head throbbed, reminding him of–

“Fuck,” he said as he sat up.

He was on a rock, miles away from land, he guessed, because he couldn’t even see it anymore. He tried remembering what had happened after he passed out, but he couldn’t.

Geralt slowly stood on shaky legs and spun in a slow circle. There was no way of knowing how far he was from land, but he was a sitting duck if he stayed here. That siren–the damned bitch–had probably left him here for later, probably liked toying with her prey.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed, repeating the word like a prayer.

He remembered his sword at the bottom of the ocean and almost laughed, near hysterics.

To be fair, he knew most of the sirens hunted strictly at night, so–if he waited until morning, when the sun was high in the sky, he might have a chance. But then there was the problem of exhaustion; he was a Witcher, but he wasn’t a fucking superhero. He had his limits and he didn’t know how far he was from land.

“Fuck,” he repeated just as he heard a loud splash in the water.

Geralt looked up sharply, looking for the source–he spotted it, a few feet away. It wasn’t the siren from last night, but it was still a siren–dark brown hair, tan skin, scales on the side of his face.

He pressed his lips together, waited, watching.

The siren slowly swam closer and Geralt’s hands curled into fists.

“Um,” the siren said.

Geralt blinked, once. He didn’t reply, just watched him with cold eyes.

“I–are you okay?” the siren asked.

Geralt narrowed his eyes. He still didn’t reply. That voice–soft and sweet–he recognized it from somewhere, but he couldn’t place it.

“Okay,” the siren said, sounding resigned and a little disappointed.

Geralt huffed and stepped closer to him, to the edge of the rock. The water splashed up against the side of the rock, wetting his feet. “What?” he asked gruffly. “Prefer when your prey still has fight left in them? Well,” Geralt smiled cruelly, “I’m not giving you the satisfaction.”

The siren’s head snapped up, looking at him with wide eyes. “Wh–no?”

“I’m not scared of you, little shit,” he said, crouching down.

The siren pursed his lips, and he really did look human–ignoring the scales. “I would hope not,” he replied dryly. “That was not my goal,” he continued. “But perhaps I should’ve let you drown if this is–”

“What?” he interrupted, slowly absorbing the words.

The siren’s tail splashed in the water, keeping him afloat. “I saved you, and–”

“You saved–me?” he asked in disbelief, interrupting again.

The siren looked stricken. “You don’t remember?” Then. “Fuck,” he turned and glanced around, eyes searching the water. “They’re nearby,” he breathed, and Geralt barely heard him over the natural sounds of the ocean. “You–” he said, turning back around. “Keep your head low, okay?”

Without waiting for a reply, the siren ducked under the water and disappeared.

&

Geralt was waiting for the right moment, when the sun was highest in the sky, to jump in the water and swim for it.

If he was staying low, pressed against the rock, it was for his own reasons.

The siren from earlier peeked his head out of the water. Geralt glared at him.

“Um, hi,” he greeted sheepishly.

Geralt looked away after a moment. “I don’t understand you,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to be circling me, your prey?”

The siren swam closer, slow inch by slow inch, until he was at the rock. Geralt debated kicking him in the head, but he didn’t–yet, at least. “Why do you think that?” he asked in a soft voice.

Geralt let out a harsh laugh. “Because your kind is a violent bunch of–”

“Okay,” the siren interrupted and Geralt looked down at him, surprised by the hurt in his eyes. “You don’t have to finish; I get it.”

Geralt stared at him. They were both silent for a long moment.

“You’ve met my… siblings, haven’t you?” the siren asked finally.

Geralt frowned, deep lines forming around the corners of his mouth. “I think so,” he replied curtly. “I’m assuming that was your sister who tried to fucking murder me, so–kind of hard to forget that.”

The siren visibly flinched, looking away. “I’m sorry. The others, they’re–well, not like me,” he finished quietly.

“And what does _that_ mean?” he asked roughly.

“They’re…” he started before stopping. “Well,” he started over. “Really, _they’re_ the normal ones. Sirens are meant to–you know. It’s–it’s just nature,” he explained. Geralt narrowed his eyes, and he quickly continued, “but I don’t feel the same as them.” He bit his bottom lip. “K–killing innocent people–it’s not right.”

Geralt wasn’t buying it. “Is this some kind of ploy?” he asked blandly. “A sick joke?”

“No!” the siren exclaimed, tail splashing, hard, behind him. “That’s not–”

Geralt scrambled to his feet. “I’m not playing your _sick_ game, siren,” he spit, thinking of Merek and all the others who had died because of them. “I will kill you and all the others–”

“Wait!” he interrupted desperately. “Let me prove it,” he begged.

Geralt stared down at him. He remembered what Merek had said about the survivor–he’d seen a siren with tan skin and brown hair and–“it’s you,” he breathed, finally connecting the dots. “You’re just as bad as the rest of them! You attacked–”

“I didn’t,” he said, pleading. “Just–don’t leave, okay? Give me a few minutes.”

Geralt glared down at him, hands curling into fists. He wished, so desperately, that he had his sword–this conversation would’ve been over a lot sooner.

“Just–a few minutes,” he repeated. “Please.”

Geralt still didn’t reply, just watched as the siren ducked under the water.

&

Geralt sat on the rock, crossing his arms and shivering. It was cold, even for a Witcher. The sun wasn’t helping despite being high in the sky, and–“huh,” he breathed. He had an hour, at most, before the sun would lower. He glanced around, but there was no sign of the siren.

“A few minutes, my ass,” he muttered under his breath, frowning.

Sighing, he stood up. He couldn’t wait–he was running out of time.

“Wait!” Geralt looked over; the siren was swimming toward him, quick. “I–I found it,” he said, which was… confusing, to say the least.

Geralt stared at him, unblinking. “Found _what?_ ”

The siren stopped near the rock and lifted his hands out from the water. Geralt wasn’t genuinely surprised by much, but this–this was surprising. He crouched down.

“You found my sword?” he asked in disbelief. “Wait, you went _searching_ for it?”

The siren looked almost shy. “Yeah,” he said, holding it up. “Here.”

Geralt grabbed his sword–it was definitely his, no mistaking it. He held it for a moment, admiring it. It was still in good condition. “Why?” he asked finally, glancing back down at the siren with furrowed brows. Confused was an understatement. “Why would you do that?”

“Um,” the siren said. “I–I wanted you to know I’m not like the others. I swear.”

Geralt hmmed, looking at his sword again. His fingers flexed around the hilt. “That was dumb,” he said after a few seconds, “and dangerous.” He looked at the siren. “You don’t have any survival instincts, do you?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Not really,” he said. “My siblings say it’s a real problem.”

“Mmm,” he replied and slowly sat back down. “What’s your name?”

“Oh,” the siren said, looking–well, happy. “Jaskier.”

Geralt nodded, once. “Okay, Jaskier,” he said. “Say, I think you’re different. Your siblings are not. I would still need to–you know,” he finished, for some reason not wanting to say the words: _kill them._

“I–I know,” Jaskier said and he sounded sad, but. “And I’m not against it.”

Geralt was surprised. He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Your own siblings?”

Jaskier flinched, looking away. “I know it sounds–bad, but… they’ve been killing innocents and–and I don’t think that’s right, I told you that and I meant it.”

“And you don’t think you could talk them out of it?” he asked.

Jaskier frowned, looking back. “I’ve tried, long before you showed up. There’s no making them stop.”

Geralt nodded slowly. “You will be on your own,” he said, searching his face. “You’re okay with that?”

“Um–oh,” Jaskier smiled sadly, like he hadn’t really thought about that. “Well, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Geralt nodded again. “Okay,” he said. “Prove it–help me gather them.”

“Just tell me what to do,” he replied. “Um–”

Geralt’s lips twitched upward, almost a smile but not quite. “Geralt.”

&

Geralt waited for Jaskier’s signal, low on the rock. He heard it–his voice, singing from not too far off, and prepared for the attack, holding his sword, tight. Soon it wasn’t just Jaskier’s voice, but dozens of them.

He took a deep breath and waited until the voices were close, closer–

When he saw red curls, he scrambled to his feet and jumped into the water. He landed on top of her, bringing his sword down, fast, slicing through her. He looked for Jaskier without even thinking.

He was a few feet away, eyes closed, covering his ears like a child. _Good_ , Geralt thought, before he was jumped by a different siren and forced under the water. He stabbed them, once, twice, before they released him, sinking.

Geralt was jumped again and he went under, accidentally swallowing water, his lungs burning. He aimed blindly, but missed and the siren’s claws dug into his shoulders, hard.

He gasped in pain and the corners of his eyes darkened again, just like before.

Suddenly, the siren was pulled off him. He swam up, head resurfacing, and saw Jaskier, clawing violently, mindlessly at the siren.

Geralt’s heart squeezed with something unpleasant–he didn’t know what.

He sliced his sword through the siren and shook it off, watching as the body sunk to the bottom of the ocean with the others. Jaskier looked at him, a bit of blood splattered on his cheek.

Geralt suddenly felt like apologizing and he didn’t know why.

“Behind you!” he exclaimed, eyes widening.

Geralt spun around and stabbed the siren before their claws could reach his throat. He heard Jaskier’s sigh and realized, with a start, that it was over–that had been the last of them.

&

Geralt climbed back up on the rock, slumping against it. Jaskier lingered nearby, swaying back and forth. Then, “may I join you?” he asked, breaking the silence.

He opened his eyes and turned his head, facing him in the water. “What?” he asked. “I–can you _get_ out of the water?”

Jaskier cupped water in his hands and splashed his face, wetting his scales. “Yes, just not for very long,” he admitted, sounding sad.

Geralt hmmed, filing that information away for later. “Okay,” he said.

Looking pleased, Jaskier swam closer and climbed up on the rock. Geralt watched him. He knew Jaskier had a tail, of course, but it was different, really seeing it. It was a mix of blues and greens.

Jaskier smiled, almost shyly, and Geralt looked away, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Will… will you be okay?” he asked after a moment. “On your own?”

Jaskier shrugged–he could feel it. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I–I’ll be lonely, no doubt, but–” he turned over and Geralt opened his eyes, peering at him. “I still think we did the right thing.”

“Yeah,” he replied gruffly. His heart felt heavy in his chest. He didn’t know why.

Jaskier smiled lightly, biting his bottom lip. “Hey,” he said, “do you mind if I sing?”

Geralt rolled onto his back and smiled, the barest hint of teeth. “Do what you want,” he said. He dozed off to the sound of Jaskier’s voice, soft and sweet and comforting, like a warm blanket.

&

Jaskier followed him to the shore, where they said their goodbyes. Geralt wasn’t a fan of hugs, never had been, but in that moment he wanted to gather Jaskier in his arms.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to–Jaskier lunged forward and hugged him, tight.

“Thank you,” he whispered in his ear.

Geralt grunted, placing a gentle hand on Jaskier’s back. “Can I ask something?”

Jaskier pulled back, sinking lower in the water. “What is it?”

“Is this–” he looked around. “Are you happy–like _this_?” he gestured at Jaskier’s body. It was a rude question, perhaps, but Geralt had never been good at beating around the bush.

Jaskier just smiled, brows furrowing. “I mean… I don’t understand.”

“I–” Geralt took a deep breath. “What would you say if–if you could be human?” That wasn’t right, really. “Or, well, have a life on land, at least.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, comically so. Geralt noticed then that his eyes were blue, yes, but with the tiniest specks of brown. His heart fluttered in his chest as he waited for Jaskier’s answer.

“I–I didn’t think that was possible,” he breathed finally.

Geralt shrugged sharply. “I know a girl,” he said. “She’s pretty good at impossible.”

“Oh. Well.” Jaskier gulped audibly. “I–I think I would like that. A lot.”

&

Geralt contacted Yennefer and she showed up a week later, eyeing him skeptically. “Your letter was… _surprising_ , to say the least,” were the first words out of her mouth. “A siren, _really_?”

He shrugged. “A siren,” he confirmed. “Will you help or not?”

She stared at him, folding her arms over her chest. “I’ll _try,_ ” she reasoned, “but you’re kind of playing with the unknown here, Geralt. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do.”

“Good enough,” he replied gruffly. “Follow me.”

Jaskier was waiting for them, bobbing in the water. There was no missing Yennefer’s gasp. “Beautiful,” she breathed before evidently catching herself, clearing her throat. “Jaskier, right?”

He nodded. “Geralt told me a lot about you,” he said. “That–that you’re amazingly talented.”

She smiled tightly. “Well,” she said, walking into the water a ways. She reached out and ran her fingers over his cheek. “I’ve never dealt with anything like… _this_ , so.”

Jaskier nodded quickly. “I understand. Just–just try. Please.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “Give me… a couple days. Let me see what I can do.”

&

Geralt sat on the bed, watching silently as Yennefer worked, pouring things–liquid and herbs–in a small vial, mixing them. She sniffed the vial and frowned, starting over.

“Any luck?” he asked gruffly, and she looked up.

“What do you think?” she asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

He put his hands in the air. “Point taken.”

Sighing, she pinched a few herbs between her fingers and added them to the vial, looking pleased with the results. Geralt was silent again.

“So,” she said after a few seconds. “I never thought I’d hear from you again.”

He didn’t reply.

“And if I did, I was assuming you’d be asking for help with–” she looked up, pointedly staring at his crotch, and he frowned, crossing his legs. “Such a prude,” she chided with a smirk. “All I mean is, I’m surprised that you’ve moved on. Not hurt, mind you, but–”

“What?” he interrupted sharply.

Yennefer looked up again. “What?” she parroted in confusion.

“Mo–moved on?” he asked, nose scrunched. “What are you talking about?”

Yennefer stared at him for a long, silent moment. “You’re kidding, right?” Geralt stared back, unwavering. She laughed, shaking her head. “Gods, you are so–Geralt, have you ever done anything like this before?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “You called me to help. Come on, you have a brain–I think– _use_ it.”

Geralt pressed his lips together. “He helped me, Yen, so I’m helping him.”

“Right, right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But that’s not all, is it?”

Geralt frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he argued, but the words sounded weak to his own ears. “Are–are you implying I have feelings for the siren? _Really_ , Yennefer?”

“Hmm,” she said, pouring something in the vial and shaking it. “I don’t think I said those exact words,” she pointed out. “But since you did, sure.”

Geralt growled, low, and stood up. “I’m going for a walk,” he said gruffly.

&

A couple days later, Yennefer approached him with the vial. The finished product was black and thick, and looked disgusting, like most spells tended to look. “Okay,” she said. “It’s finished.”

Geralt eyed the vial suspiciously. “Will it work?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly.

He nodded curtly. “Will–” he swallowed. “Will it hurt him if it doesn’t?”

Yennfer lowered the vial and looked at him a little too knowingly. “No, Geralt,” she said, not unkindly. “He will be okay.”

Turning away, he stormed out of the inn and Yennefer followed silently.

Jaskier was waiting for them–had been for days. “Geralt,” he greeted, his tail splashing in the water happily. He turned and looked at the sorceress, smiling politely. “Yennefer.”

She leaned down and showed him the vial. “I don’t know if it’ll work,” she said, “but it’s worth a try.”

Jaskier took the vial and nodded, staring at it. “It’s–it’s supposed to be black, right?” he asked with a hint of humor and Yennefer smiled, briefly.

“Yes,” she answered. “Just drink it, all at once if you can.”

Jaskier nodded and popped off the lid, tilting his head back. Geralt watched, stiff, expression pinched, as Jaskier drank it. Yennefer stood up and nudged him with her elbow. “Your face is going to stick like that if you don’t stop,” she said and he frowned.

Jaskier finished with a loud gulp, dropping the vial in the water. His shoulders trembled, his lips turning blue–“Yen,” Geralt said, grabbing her arm, hard, “his lips–is that normal?”

“Calm down,” she hissed but she looked vaguely concerned, too. “Jaskier, are you feeling okay?”

Jaskier blinked. “I’m–I’m ok–” he didn’t finish his sentence before he was falling forward, limp, landing in the water with a loud splash. Geralt rushed forward and caught him.

“Jaskier, Jaskier,” he repeated. “Open your eyes, please–Jaskier.”

Yennefer stepped forward. “Geralt,” she said, low. He ignored her, brushing some hair out of Jaskier’s face. “ _Geralt_ ,” she repeated.

He looked up with a frown. “What?” he snapped.

Yennefer pointed at Jaskier’s tail–“look”–except when Geralt looked, he quickly noticed he no longer had a tail, but legs. Human fucking legs, tan just like the rest of him. Geralt let out a sharp breath and tugged Jaskier closer.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Yennefer nodded. “Fuck,” she agreed. “We should get him out of the water.”

&

Geralt laid Jaskier on the bed and tucked him in before moving out of the way. Yennefer stepped forward and looked him over.

“He’s okay,” she said, and Geralt visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping. “Nothing seems to be off. I think the magic was just too much for him.”

She stepped away and Geralt took her spot, staring at his sleeping face.

“Geralt,” she said. “I know you’re not an idiot.” Geralt ignored her. “And, frankly, I think Jaskier feels the same way. I mean, look at him–what he gave up for you–”

He growled. “He didn’t do this for me,” he said gruffly. “He wanted this.”

Yennefer sighed lightly and sat at the foot of the bed, tucking her hands together in her lap. “Okay, good, but did you ever consider _why_ he wanted it?” Geralt didn’t reply. “Did you consider what you were going to do–after?”

Geralt looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, gesturing at Jaskier. “Are you taking him with you on your travels?” Geralt pressed his lips together, thoughtful, as he looked back at Jaskier. “Come on,” she said, “don’t tell me you didn’t think about any of this.”

Geralt grunted, and she sighed again.

“He’ll probably be waking up in the next few hours,” she said, standing up. “When he does, I think you need to swallow your fucking pride and have a real talk with him, Geralt.”

Without waiting for a reply, she left the room.

&

Jaskier woke up a couple hours later when Geralt–fuck–wasn’t in the room. He returned a few seconds later, carrying a bowl, and stopped in the doorway, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

“Hi,” Jaskier greeted hoarsely.

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat and entered the room, closing the door. “Hi,” he parroted lamely, walking over. “How–how are you feeling?”

Jaskier noticed the food in his arms and smiled, soft. “Hungry.”

“Oh,” Geralt said gruffly, clearing his throat. He sat on the bed and placed the bowl between them. “It’s probably cold, sorry.”

Jaskier grabbed a piece of the meat and shrugged, biting it. “So. I’m–” he looked down at his legs, covered by the blanket, and wiggled them. He grinned, and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, I don’t know what I am.”

“Specifics aren’t important,” Geralt said, meaning it. “You’re free now.”

Jaskier chewed slowly. “I am,” he conceded. “So… what now?”

Geralt stared at him. He thought of Yennefer’s words: _swallow your fucking pride._ “You can do whatever you want,” he said gruffly. “You can stay here, live a normal life or–”

“Or–?” Jaskier prompted softly, looking almost hopeful.

Geralt swallowed thickly. “Or you could accompany me on my travels.”

“Oh,” he breathed and for a moment Geralt felt stupid–why would he ever want _that_? “I can?” he asked, surprising Geralt.

Geralt nodded. “If that’s what you want,” he said truthfully. He had no interest in forcing Jaskier to do anything.

“Okay,” he said. “I–I think I would like that a lot.”

Geralt’s lips twitched upward. He smiled, small, and looked away. Yennefer was right–they still had a lot they needed to talk about, but… Jaskier nudged him with his foot and he giggled, like it was the coolest thing in the world, and Geralt’s smile widened.

There was no rush–they had all the time in the world to do that.

“Hey,” Jaskier said around a mouthful of meat. “Do humans sing, too?”

Geralt barked out a laugh that surprised even himself. “Jaskier,” he said, “you don’t even know the half of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> if u enjoy my fics please check out:  
> korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


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